


What I Never Thought To Hear From You

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is another one-shot written over the summer for a tumblr prompt: ""Imagine your OTP getting into a heated argument and person A accidentally confesses their love for person B out of frustration"</p><p>When Ned comes to Catelyn with a request on behalf of their little son, old wounds are painfully opened, and carefully concealed feelings risk exposure in the midst of all the anger and hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Never Thought To Hear From You

“Do not ask this of me.”

His wife’s voice was low and tightly controlled. He could see the barely visible tremor in her body and knew that she was angry. Perhaps angrier than he had ever seen her.

“Cat . . .” he started.

“No,” she said, turning away from him. “This I cannot do.” She turned away from him then and fled from her chambers, actually running as she disappeared down the corridor leaving him standing there staring after her through the open door.

“Damn!” he swore loudly, as he stood there alone in his wife’s chambers, thinking that he would likely not be welcome in them for some time now. _You have no one to blame but yourself, Eddard Stark,_ he thought grimly.

That was true enough. He had created this entire situation of his own choice nearly five years past, and he had known that making this particular request now would cause her pain. And yet he done it anyway. “Damn!”

He heard a high pitched short squeal and looked up again at the open door to see a little serving girl gaping at him from the corridor with a shocked expression on her face. _Wonderful. Now I am terrifying the house staff._

Sighing heavily, he went out to find Robb. He needed to tell the boy that he could not grant his request. He should have told him that in the first place, but the boy’s earnest pleas and his wide, innocent eyes as he begged Ned to tell him why Jon couldn’t sit beside him--why Mother didn’t like Jon--why wasn’t he allowed to just ask Mother if it would be all right . . . Faced with his beloved son’s questions, most of which he felt entirely unprepared to answer, he had taken the craven’s route, and once more placed burdens upon his lady wife that should never have been hers to bear.

 _I bring you nothing but pain, Cat. Pain and shame. How shall you ever believe that your joy is all I desire? That your happiness has become far more essential to me than my own. That you have become . . ._ He let that thought trail off as he exited the Great Keep. Even in his own thoughts, he didn’t dare try to name the feelings which had grown so unexpectedly strong for his proud, stubborn, beautiful, loving, generous, passionate, and ever dutiful wife. But in well over five years of marriage, nearly five of which had now been spent living together here in Winterfell, he’d come to greatly admire this incredibly fascinating and sometimes infuriating woman that fate had seen fit to give to him, and he freely admitted, if only to himself, that his feelings went far beyond simple admiration or duty.

 _I can not expect it to be so for her,_ he thought sadly. _Not after all that I’ve done._ Catelyn did respect him. He knew that. She was the most dutiful person he had ever met, living out her House words as if they had been inked into her bloodstream as well as on the Tully seal. While she had certainly made him feel less than welcome in her bed in those early days when she’d arrived to find him here with Jon already in residence, she had never barred the door to him or attempted to deny him his right to her body--not that he’d exercised that right for a very long time as he’d had no wish to take her unwilling. She had taken on the running of his household and never spoken an ill word of him to anyone present. Alone in a strange place with no confidante to hear her grievances and hurts, she had swallowed her sorrows and held onto her pride as she claimed the place which was rightfully hers by their marriage. And in the end, it had been Catelyn who’d come to him nearly demanding that he come to her bed rather than shame her by refusing her more trueborn children even as he allowed his bastard to live in her home beside Robb.

That seemed like a long time ago now. The two of them had come so far from that place, and the respect between them was mutual. Even some amount of affection, for he knew that not all of her unguarded smiles were for Robb and Sansa now. She smiled at him with genuine joy, and she would never know what that did to his heart for he took care to keep any hint of it from his face. Not that he wished to be cold to her. Never that. He merely had no wish to make her feel compelled to offer him more than she was able. 

He was endlessly grateful for all that they had managed to share: The tenderness they discovered between them when she carried Sansa as he’d spent hours marveling over the miracle of the life growing within her. The appreciation each held for the other’s mind and opinions in all matters. Save the one, he thought bitterly. _I allow her no opinion, no voice, on the one thing, and I never can._ The surprising depth of the passion they had gradually discovered in their shared bed. They certainly had learned to give their bodies freely to their mutual pleasure even if they did both hold tightly to their hearts.

 _She holds so tightly to her heart._ And that is why he would never let her see how quickly he would give her his, for if she could see that she would know how desperately he had come to desire to have all of hers. To put Brandon’s ghost to rest and all the other shadows between them. But that could not be. He had seen to that the moment he named Jon ‘son’ and commanded his wife’s acceptance of that. And if she knew how greatly he desired her love, dutiful creature that she was, she would feel the failure of being unable to give it. She would fault herself for being unable to give him what she did not have. And that, he could not allow. He had caused her to feel shame enough already.

“Father!” Robb’s voice cried out excitedly from across the courtyard, and Ned, who’d been so lost in his own musings that he’d scarcely taken note of where he walked, looked up to see both his boys dashing from the direction of the armory to greet him. 

When they reached him, Robb threw his arms exuberantly around Ned’s thighs, nearly causing him to stumble while Jon, ever more cautious, stopped just before him with a quiet, “Hello, Father.”

 _He is so like me,_ Ned thought, wondering not for the first time at the ways the gods found to amuse themselves. 

“Did you ask her, Father? Did you? Because it’s only right and I . . .”

Ned grabbed at the boy who was bouncing up and down, all energy and eagerness, and interrupted his words by swinging him up into his arms. _And you remind me so much of Brandon at times. For all you look like your mother._ Ned shook his head and wondered if, from somewhere beyond, Lyanna and Brandon could know what the two boys he called his were like. If so, they undoubtedly had a great laugh at his expense.

“Did she say yes?” Robb asked him, in a slightly more civilized manner now that his face was directly in front of Ned’s.

Ned sighed. “Jon,” he said. “Go and tell the cook I’ve given you permission for a treat if there are any pastries there.”

Jon looked up at him with no change in his expression. He was not quite five, but he knew he was being dismissed. He nodded. “Come find me, Robb?” he asked his brother.

“I want to go get a treat!” Robb protested, not realizing that Jon was essentially being sent away. _Of course, he doesn’t understand it. He has never been sent away._ Ned’s heart ached for the two boys, so close to each other, and yet already becoming different in ways that neither was completely conscious of. The Heir of Winterfell and the Bastard of Winterfell. The love between them would never fully bridge that immense gap, and he knew it. Even if did prefer to ignore it whenever he could.

“I need to speak with you, Robb,” he said gravely as Jon ran off in the direction of the kitchens. 

“She said no!” Robb wailed, intelligent enough to realize that had his wish been granted, his father would not be speaking to him in this manner. “It’s not fair! Why is Mother so mean? You should make her say yes!”

“You will not speak that way of your mother!” Ned shouted suddenly, and he watched Robb’s little face crumple before his eyes. He winced to see his son fight to keep the tears out of his little Tully blue eyes so like his mother’s, just as she had done a short time ago.

Sighing, he set the boy down. “Walk with me, Robb,” he said quietly, and taking his son’s hand, he led him to the stables.

“Are we going to see the new foals?” Robb asked after a moment, in a small voice. He was sad and a little frightened, but he loved horses, and Ned thought that he could likely find no better place to have this conversation.

“Aye.”

When they reached the stables, Ned dismissed the only boy there at the moment so that he and Robb could go inside alone. The two new foals were in stalls with their mothers, side by side. Both were fine, sturdy colts, and Ned thought they would likely grow to a good size like the stallion who’d sired them.

He let Robb give each of the mares a treat and pet the foals quietly for a moment, and then he called him over to sit down beside him on a low wooden bench in the tack area. 

“I need to speak to you, son, and I need you to listen. You will be five years old on your nameday in a fortnight. That’s not far from being a man grown.” The little boy’s chest puffed up, and Ned smiled to see it. “So, surely you are old enough to listen to your father speak without constantly interrupting.”

Robb nodded gravely. “Yes, Father.”

“Jon cannot sit beside you at your nameday feast. It would not be proper, and I was wrong to ever let you believe that it might be allowed.” He held up his hand warningly as Robb started to protest, and the little boy bit his lip and sat very still. “It is not your lady mother’s fault, Robb, and you should not be angry at her. Jon’s situation is my own doing entirely.”

He knew Robb didn’t understand that, but he chose to skip over that for the moment. “You shall be seated beside me at the high table for your feast, as you know, while Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King, shall be seated on my other side. It is a great honor that he and your Aunt Lysa are coming here to celebrate with us, you know.

Robb nodded, still keeping his lips tightly pressed together. 

“Who would normally sit beside me at such an occasion, Robb? On the opposite side of Lord Arryn?”

“Mother,” he said very quietly.

“Aye,” Ned told him. “That is her seat. She is the Lady of Winterfell and entitled to the honor of sitting by my side. Yet, she will give you that seat for your feast as you are her son and Heir to Winterfell, and she will be proud to sit on your other side.”

Robb frowned a bit, but Ned continued. “Now, you want Jon to sit beside you. Would you have him take my place?”

“No!” Robb said quickly. “You are the Lord of Winterfell! No one sits in your chair.”

“Then you would have him sit in your mother’s place. And where would you place her, Robb?”

“I . . .she can sit on the end. On the other side of Jon.”

“On the end.” Ned nodded slowly as if he were giving the idea consideration. “Separated from both her lord husband and son, seated out beyond the bastard boy.” He had to grit his teeth to even say the words, but there was no help for it. Jon already had some idea of what it meant to be a bastard, and it seemed Robb needed to learn it as well.

“That’s a bad word!” Robb objected. “Don’t call Jon that!”

“It isn’t a kind word,” Ned agreed sadly. “But unfortunately, in Jon’s case, it is a true one.” He swallowed the lump which formed in his throat at the distress on his young son’s face. “It is not Jon’s shame, Robb, although he must live with it. It is mine.”

“You never do anything wrong!” Robb protested. “You are the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms. Mother says . . .”

“Your mother will not speak to you of this,” Ned interrupted quickly, unable to bear listening to Robb give him Catelyn’s words of praise for his own honor when she is the one he has dishonored and shamed. “It is my place to do so, and you will listen.”

Robb nodded again, and Ned continued. “You know that Robb is your brother because you are both my blood.” He stumbled over the next bit. “You both call me Father and always will.” Robb nodded once more. “But, in truth, Jon is no more than half-brother to you, for your mother is not his. Do you understand that?”

Robb nodded, but looked confused. Ned knew that both boys were aware that Catelyn was mother to Robb and Sansa, but not Jon. But not understanding anything of how children were gotten, they had not given any thought to the implications of that. Ned took a deep breath. “A man should have children only with his wife. It is wrong to do otherwise. By allowing another woman to give me a son, I dishonored myself and your lady mother, Robb.”

Robb screwed up his face. “Then why didn’t you make Mother be Jon’s mother?” he asked.

Ned sighed, fearing that he would have to explain more than he liked. “You know how the foals are nourished, don’t you, Robb?”

“Of course. They drink from their mothers.”

“And do you recall how your baby sister did the same with your mother? Before she was weaned?”

Robb nodded. He’d thought it very funny to watch Sansa suckle at Catelyn’s teat, and had once asked if it tasted good and if he might try it. Ned had thought to reprimand him for rudeness, but Catelyn, of course, had recognized childish curiosity for what it was and patiently explained that Robb had already tried it, having once been fed the same way, but that he would find not find it tasty at all now as it was meant only for babes.

“In some ways, animals and their babes are not so different from us,” Ned said then. “Such as the way those babes are fed by their mothers.” He sighed deeply. “In the getting of babes, men should behave differently from animals, but alas sometimes do not.”

Robb looked at him blankly.

“Robb, as much time as you spend with Hullen, I know you have seen him let the stallions at the mares when it is time to breed them.”

Robb’s eyes slowly grew very wide. “You mean . . .men do . . .”

Ned swallowed uncomfortably. “It is not entirely the same, I assure you. But when you hear it spoken that a man lies with his wife, there is a bit more to it than going to sleep. And it is the bit more that can give to a woman a babe.”

Robb remained silent, and Ned thought the little boy looked a bit ill. His eyes remained wide, and Ned saw that he stared at the foals with their mothers in the stalls.

“Those two foals have the same sire,” Ned told him. “You know that. The big chestnut stallion was bred to both mares. That is the way of things with animals. But with men . . .a man should never lie with a woman other than his own wife. To do so is wrong and dishonorable, and the children who come of it can never be trueborn.”

“Bastards,” Robb whispered, and then clapped his hand over his mouth as if to push the forbidden word back in.

“Aye,” Ned said. “Jon is my blood. I love him as I would any of children. But he is also my shame, and I brought that shame to your mother. You must never again think to ask her to give up her place at table or anywhere else for his sake. And you must not blame her for it.”

It was a great deal for a boy so young to comprehend. Perhaps too much. But having said too little for so long, Ned found that he needed his son to understand whatever of it he could. For Jon’s sake, for Catelyn’s sake, and for his own understanding of what it meant to be an honorable man. Even if it meant he would never see his father entirely as such again.

After a long moment spent staring at the horses, during which Ned wasn’t even certain Robb had actually heard all he said, his son looked up at him, indignation in those blue eyes. “You should never have done anything wrong to Mother!” he said angrily. “She would never do that to you.”

“You are correct. I shouldn’t have, She wouldn’t. And I do not deserve the forgiveness she has given me, but I swear to you, son, I have never done anything to shame your mother since, and I never will.”

It seemed odd to be declaring his intent to remain faithful to his wife to a child who still struggled to form simple letters with a quill, but this child was Catelyn’s firstborn son, and it gave Ned a distinct sense of pride to see how quickly he leapt to the defense of his mother’s honor in spite of his tenuous understanding of the situation and his anger at her only moments before.

“I need to go and speak with your mother now, Robb. Will you be all right?”

Robb nodded.

“You may go and look for your brother in the kitchens if you like. If I know Jon, he’s procured a treat for you as well as himself.”

Robb nodded again, and Ned turned to go. When he was almost to the exit of the stable, Robb called out, “Father!”

Ned turned back to find his little son now standing up and looking directly at him. “Mother should be angry at you and not Jon. It isn’t his fault he’s a bastard.”

Feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut, Ned realized Robb had understood far more than he’d thought. “Aye, Robb,” he said sadly. “It isn’t Jon’s fault and never will be. But it will never be your mother’s fault, either, and I need you to remember that. When you’re angry about it, you come and find me. All right?”

Robb looked hesitant, and Ned sympathized with him. He recalled his own father well enough. Lord Rickard had been a good man, and he’d loved his children. But no one questioned the Lord of Winterfell, and Robb already had learned that just as Ned had before him. “I ask this of you as your lord father, Robb. You will speak of these things only with me. All right?”

Robb nodded slowly, and Ned walked away to find his wife. He knew well enough where she’d be.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Catelyn sat on the floor of the little sept before the statue of the mother unable to cry any longer. Her tears were all spent. She had not cried in front of him, though. She had not given Eddard Stark the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

 _How could he ask such a thing of me?_ She had spent moons planning the feast for Robb’s fifth name day. Several of the Northern lords would be there with members of their households, and most importantly, her own sister whom she hadn’t seen in years was coming with her lord husband who was Hand to the King. The entire castle was buzzing with anticipation, and she had been filled with the excitement of both the coming feast and her own happy secret she had not yet shared with anyone.

Catelyn had been happier than she could ever recall being since her arrival in Winterfell. Robb was thriving. All in Winterfell remarked upon what a fine boy her son was, and she frequently heard men remark that he was a ‘true Stark’ which thrilled her beyond reason as she still worried so about his Tully looks being a mark against him. Little Sansa slept in the nursery all through the night every night now and had been weaned off the teat completely not long ago. 

She and her lord husband had reached a comfortable relationship with each other that had grown quite warm since she’d borne him Sansa. He did not love her, she knew, but he desired her. The heat between them when they lay together or even sometimes when they inadvertently touched elsewhere was undeniable. He liked her as well, and showed her as much respect in all things as her own father had. He was not openly affectionate with her, but as theirs had hardly been a match for love, she should not expect that, and felt herself petty when his lack of sweet words disappointed her. 

He had built her this sept, which had stunned her. He deferred to her in all domestic matters within the castle. He spoke to her of matters concerning his bannermen and listened to her responses. He doted on Robb and Sansa, never once expressing disappointment in their resemblance to her rather than him or in Sansa’s sex. And he never once came to take his pleasure from her that he didn’t also seek to ensure that she found pleasure in it as well. Even as angry as she was now, she felt the warmth creep into her cheeks as she thought of how much pleasure she had discovered in their bedding. She sometimes worried that he would think her too wanton to be a proper lady, but that had not appeared to be the case as her responses to him only seemed to bring him even greater happiness in her.

 _He has found happiness with me,_ she told herself firmly. _If not love. I cannot ask him for what he has already given away, and I must be content with what he gives me. He is a good man, and I am a fortunate woman in this marriage. More fortunate than I thought to be._

She had not dreamed to have so much in her life here when she’d ridden from Riverrun, her heart filled with a heady mix of anticipation, fear, hope, and above all pride in her infant son--the heir to Winterfell that she had birthed for her husband after only a fortnight spent in his bed. Ned’s face when he had beheld Robb for the first time had opened her heart wide, and she had felt nearly all her fear evaporate as those grey eyes looked from their son’s face to hers with a more tender expression than she’d ever thought to see there. She’d never forget that moment.

But the perfect joy of that moment had made the next even more unbearable, for Lord Eddard Stark had confessed to her that he’d fathered a bastard while away at war and brought the boy home to be raised in her castle with her son. The world had crashed around her then, and what dreams she’d had were shattered. She had been entirely alone and so had made her son her world, thinking that if Winterfell could never truly be her home, it would damn sure be his. This was his place, not the bastard’s, and she would never let it be taken from him. For his sake she’d thrown herself into her role as Lady of Winterfell whether she felt like it was her place or not, and slowly, so slowly that she’d almost not been aware of it, Winterfell had become her place. These people were hers, not as much as they were her husband’s of course, but she was their lady. And she was proud of that.

She’d not been able to keep Eddard Stark out of her heart, either, for all she had tried. In spite of the bastard, in spite of the terrible way he’d shouted when she’d dared to ask who his mother was, he was a good man. She’d told herself that life would be better for her, better for her children, if she did not hate the man who fathered them. She’d told herself it was her duty as Eddard Stark’s wife to warm his bed, bear his children, manage his household, hear his troubles, and give him counsel. It was duty. That’s all. She was a Tully of Riverrun and she would not shirk her duty. Nor would she refuse to do everything in her power to keep her family well and safe and prosperous. That included Lord Eddard Stark.

She’d not forgotten the other word of her House, either. She’d never forgotten the terrible slight to her honor she suffered on account of the bastard, but she had to admit he was a quiet, unassuming boy who did little to draw attention to himself other than look precisely like her husband--and he could hardly help that. Over the past few years, she’d learned to more or less ignore his presence, to ignore that when she sought out Robb she always found him as well, to ignore that Robb spoke of him with far more affection than he did his trueborn sister. He was a playmate, a confidante, and at Ned’s insistence, a brother. Of course, Robb cared for him. It wasn’t Robb’s fault.

_I only ask because Robb wishes . . ._

“Damn you, Eddard Stark!” she swore at loud, forgetting she was in a sept. That he had placed responsibility for this on Robb angered her more than anything. The damned bastard sat beside her son at nearly every meal of his life, only sitting away from their table at formal dinners. And this dinner! With the Hand of the King and her own sister present! To think that he would ask her to move herself to the far end of the table to make room for his bastard in a place of honor beside the Heir to Winterfell on his name day . . .

She began shaking again now as she thought about it, and apparently she’d only thought her tears were spent because now she felt them stinging her eyes once more. “Damn you, Eddard Stark,” she whispered more softly, and she knew it wasn’t the insult of the request that caused the depth of her pain. He wouldn’t force the issue, she knew. Even if he asked her again, she would refuse him, and he would not force this upon her. 

The pain came from the realization of how much his willingness to even ask had hurt her. He didn’t know how deeply he could hurt her because he didn’t know how deeply she had come to care for him. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but when she’d realized that . . . _No I don’t want to think about that now._ She’d been so excited to tell him her news. She’d been about to tell him that morning when he’d surprised her by coming to her chambers, but then he’d told her of Robb’s request and . . . _You should have told him no, Ned. You should never have brought it to me. I can forgive you much, for the sake of the man you are, but I will not be shamed in front of my family. Not even for you._

He had lain with her last night. She’d almost told him her secret then as he’d held her close to him afterwards and they’d spoken of Robb’s upcoming nameday and both of their children and how fast they grew. His grey eyes had been warm as he’d looked at her and called her beautiful. She’d seen the truth of his words in his eyes, and she’d allowed herself to love him. Not that she didn’t love him all the time. She’d realized the truth of that not long after Sansa’s birth, but she knew he did not feel the same, and so she tried to keep that feeling deep inside only allowing it to flow through her, filling her with warmth, in moments such as the one last night. She’d started to tell him. The words had been on the tip of her tongue when the knock had come at her door.

The men had apologized for disturbing her slumber, but livestock had broken free of some pens and were trampling through some of the fields near the castle destroying crops, and did the lord want to send men to help the farmers. Of course, the lord had wanted to send men. The lord had gone himself as well, because Ned wouldn’t do anything else. She’d known that he’d go to his own room upon his return, not wishing to disturb her, and she’d fallen asleep imagining the look on his face when she told him in the morning that he was to be a father again.

Now, she couldn’t imagine telling him at all. Now, she didn’t want to look at him, much less speak to him. Now, she hated herself for allowing him so far into her heart that his lack of concern for her feelings and even her honor could wound her more now than when she’d first learned of the bastard’s existence.

She rose to her knees and laid her forehead against the pedestal upon which the statue of the Mother sat. “Help me,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“My lady?”

She heard the tentative words from behind her, and she knew the voice, but he never came here. She kept her eyes closed and did not move.

“Cat?”

No one else here called her that. Why was he here? Did he think she would be less likely to refuse him surrounded by her gods? Slowly, she rose to stand and then turned around to face her lord husband who stood in the doorway looking rather apprehensive.

“Why have you come here, my lord? The Seven are nothing to you.”

“That is not true, my lady,” he said evenly. “I may not keep the Seven, but they hear the prayers of my lady wife and my children, so they are important to me.”

For a man who spoke so infuriatingly little, he had a knack for saying precisely the right thing rather frequently, which annoyed her at the moment. “Nevertheless, you are not here to pray, Ned,” she said, in some irritation.

“No. I came to find you.”

“I have nothing more to say to you, my lord, and I would be grateful if you left me to my devotions.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

He almost left when she turned her back on him. Eddard Stark was not a man to disturb anyone’s time with their gods. But as he watched her standing there with her back straight and her shoulders held stiffly, he saw a single silent sob shake her slim body, and he couldn’t go.

“Talk to me, Cat. Please.”

She shook her head violently, but didn’t speak or turn around.

“I cannot stand to see you like this,” he said desperately. “Tell me what to do.”

At that, she whirled around, and he could see fury flashing in her blue eyes. “You cannot stand to see me like this?” she spat at him. “Tell you what to do?” She shook her head once very slowly. “Oh, no, my lord. It is you who tell me what to do. That is how this works.” She took a step toward him, and he realized she was shaking as she had been earlier in her chambers. “Here is my bastard,” she said, in tones obviously meant to mock his own. “He is to live here. You will not speak against it. You will allow him to spend all his time with our son. You will never, ever ask me of his mother. You are never to speak of him at all.”

She had moved toward him as she spoke and now stood directly in front of him, pain and rage both obvious on her face. 

“Catelyn . . .” he started, wondering what he should say, what he could say. “About Jon . . I only want . . .”

“Do not ask it of me again!” She actually shouted the words. “I beg of you, my lord. Do not ask it again. I will not be shamed in front of my own sister, in front of the Hand of the King! I will no more sit at the end of the table beside your bastard than I will sit at the back of the Hall where the men feed their dogs! No, I will not.”

“Damn it, Catelyn! I never wanted to shame you!” he shouted even more loudly, immediately ashamed that he had raised his voice to her. She did not cower though, as she had that long ago terrible night. She stood before him, shaking but not looking down or backing away.

“You asked it of me, though! You had the nerve to request that I remove myself from my son’s side at his nameday feast that I have planned and prepared to make room for your bastard and . . .”

“Robb asked if Jon could sit with him!” Even as he said the words, Ned realized how ridiculous they sounded.

“Robb is a child! A boy of five who doesn’t know yet what it means to father a bastard! You do!”

The words stung him as if she had slapped him, and he struggled to find something he could say to soothe her, but she had not finished speaking.

“You should have told him no, Ned. The bastard is your responsibility. Explaining his position to Robb is your responsibility as well. What did you think would happen as they grew? Robb loves the boy because you’ve taught him to love him! He wants him at table because you’ve taught him he belongs there! And he doesn’t, Ned. He doesn’t!” She shook her head. “Whether I approved of it or not, others never will. He is a bastard, and neither you nor I can change that. Robb can’t, either, and he needs to know it sooner rather than later.” The tears were falling from her eyes now. “I’ve not said a word about him in nearly five years, Ned, because you do not wish me to. I let my son--your trueborn son and heir--play with him, eat with him, and even share a room with him. But this . . .this . . .I cannot do it. Do not ask me again to shame myself in this way. However much I love you, I cannot do this.” 

She started sobbing in earnest then, putting her face in her hands, and Ned didn’t realize precisely what she’d said for a moment. Then her words echoed in his mind. _However much I love you, I cannot do this. However much I love you. However much I love you. I love you._

“What did you say?” he asked her, far more sharply than he intended as she continued to stand in front of him crying.

He reached for her and put his hands on her arms. “Catelyn, what did you just say?” he asked her very softly.

“I . . I . .said I couldn’t . . do . . .” she choked out between sobs, and then she suddenly seemed to realize what she had said as well for she drew in her breath sharply and looked up at him with a look of horrified realization on her face.

“Cat,” he said, moving one hand to stroke her cheek. “I never thought to hear you say that to me, my lady.”

She continued to tremble, but she bravely met his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to say it. I only . . .you needn’t concern yourself about . . .”

 _Concern myself?_ He nearly shouted at her again, but he took a deep breath and tried to slow the racing of his heart. “I concern myself with everything about you. You are my wife, Catelyn. And I have wronged you.”

She looked at him in some surprise then. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

“I have wronged you,” he repeated. “Long ago, and again today when I made that thoughtless request. I have spoken to Robb, my lady. I . . .don’t know how much he can understand at his age, but I have told him that Jon’s position in this castle is entirely my doing, and not yours.” He smiled at the one tiny memory from that conversation he thought he’d share with her. “Your son was most indignant on your behalf, my lady. He knows at least that I hurt you, and he wanted to be certain I would never do it again.”

She made a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob, but she had not moved away or tried to remove his hands from her. “And I won’t,” he said, leaning in close. “I will not hurt you so again, my love.”

Her eyes widened at his words, and he smiled at her. He had never spoken such an endearment to her before, but as her own words continued to echo through every part of him, _I love you,_ he found himself ready to name what he had felt for so long.

“Truly, Ned?” she asked him, and he knew she was asking him about the words he just used more so than the promise he had made her.

“Truly,” he said, and then he bent to kiss her, first her tearstained cheeks and damp eyelids, and then her soft lips which she opened to him with a little sigh. He pulled her against him and deepened the kiss, trying to tell her everything he didn’t have words for, trying to make up for all the things he could never tell her, the hurts he would never be able to mend. 

When they broke apart, she looked at him and touched his cheek. Something akin to wonder shone in the blue eyes. “I never thought . . .” she started, and then she shook her head.

It made him smile to see his wife lost for words. “Let’s not think,” he said. “Let us put this terrible morning behind us except for what we feel now in this place. I wish to hold this and hold you forever, my love, even knowing it is more than I deserve.”

She smiled to hear him call her his love again. “Perhaps we both deserve more than we thought . . .my love.”

They both laughed, and he kissed her again, marveling at how nothing had actually changed, but everything had changed. She pulled away from him after a moment and smiled once more.

“I’m afraid I’ve kept another secret from you, my lord,” she said, and then she leaned close and tiptoed to put her lips to his ear. At her whispered words, his heart swelled until he thought it might burst.

“Truly?” he asked looking from her face to her flat belly and back to her beautiful face.

“Truly,” she smiled up at him. This time, Catelyn kissed him, and his mind went absurdly to her stern septa, wondering what she’d think of all this kissing in the sept and thinking that if he didn’t get his wife out of there rather quickly, they’d be engaged in activities far more likely to shock the poor woman.

Laughing out loud, he put one arm down below Catelyn’s hips and swept her up into his arms to carry her from the sept out into the sunlight, feeling warmed as much by the sound of her shocked laughter as by the pale Northern early spring sun. 

Winter was over. His heir was to celebrate his fifth name day. His wife now carried their third child. And, inexplicably, this woman he had come to love so dearly miraculously loved him as well. On this day, in spite of his past sins and his failures, Eddard Stark found himself filled with hope for the future of the Starks of Winterfell.


End file.
